


Glorious

by TourmalineQueen



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Acre is awesome, Altaïr is such a Novice, M/M, Malik is awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Kinkmeme Fill (Part 4, Page 16). Altaïr and Malik kicking ass and taking names (and snogging)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glorious

**Author's Note:**

> Set post AC, during the time when Altair and Malik worked on Codex kills. Set in Acre because of that beautiful Church.

Glorious

*-*-*  
The first time Malik had joined Altaïr upon a viewpoint in Jerusalem, the Grand Master had jumped so suddenly he almost missed the haycart. The one-armed Master was the last man Altaïr had expected to see so far from the ground. Not that he should have been surprised; as Novices, and Adepts, and even as young Master Assassins Malik had ever loved the Leap of Faith and enjoyed the tranquility of the high platforms, at least as much as Altaïr had. But slowly Altaïr grew accustomed to the damaged Master following him on high when they worked missions together.

One day, atop the spire of Acre's Christian Church, using his Eagle Vision Altaïr spotted the telltale gold forms in the distance that signified Templars on the road. Malik was out of breath, clutching the escarpment beneath the Cross on which Altaïr perched, grumbling softly to himself. Or perhaps he was grumbling noisily and Altaïr simply was ignoring it; sometimes even Altaïr could not tell. Whatever Malik was saying was lost upon the Grand Master, who simply launched himself into the air, to land in a haycart not far from five Templar Knights. Altaïr briefly wondered that they could hear anything through their dreadful helmets, and then decided that the helmets worked more in his favour than theirs - after all, he could not be so easily identified as they.

He leapt from the cart, surging up and out before the surprised soldiers, drawing his scimitar and snuffing one with a straightforward decaptiating slash. The hated Templars recovered quickly, attacking as one, and soon Altaïr realised he had overestimated them and was now fighting for his life. He backed away to regain some of his equillibrium, and found himself almost pinned to the cart of hay that had saved him moments before.

He blocked a nasty overhead swing that might have cleaved him head-to-foot, leaving his belly vulnerable momentarily. One of the Templars was about to take advantage when he vanished up into the hay. Malik leapt out of it, brandishing his short blade. The last two Templars laughed to see the Grand Master of the Assassin Order rescued by a one-armed man, until the one-armed man slit their throats.

Hearing shouts from some of the town's garrison in the distance, the pair of Assassins ran. They ran the maze of streets, alleys, squares, and hospitalier ruins until they were almost at the city gate. Pressed against the wall in half a brick house, Altaïr began to chuckle as he regained his breath.

"I wish I had witnessed your Leap, my brother. I suspect it was a wonder to behold. You were glorious, Malik. But you should have seen your face when they laughed, you frightened me," he said, lips curled with wry amusement.

"Teach them to say a one-armed man is no threat," Malik stated, glowering furiously.

"That will teach _anyone_ to think you anything but a true and glorious Master," Altaïr said, suddenly very serious. "Including me."

And without warning, Malik was pinned to the wall, and the Grand Master groaned his name into his mouth, as he kissed his second-in-command with all the adrenaline-fuelled fervour in his body.

"Thou shalt not worship false idols," Altaïr murmured, nibbling Malik's earlobe.

"Wh-what?" Malik gasped, angling his head to direct Altaïr's clever lips to the spot beneath his right ear.

"Something these Christians say. I know that I worship a true idol."

"Nothing is true," Malik said, almost purring when Altaïr's fingers slid inside his white inner robe.

"Everything is permitted," Altaïr said, tugging off his hood with one hand and Malik's dai robe with the other.

"Everything, yes," Malik panted, hitching a leg about Altaïr's waist.

"They would not like to think that we do this here," Altaïr pointed out, not really stopping himself.

"No, but _I_ like to think that we do this here," Malik countered, encouraging the touches and kisses and noises from Altaïr.

"Is it because you were right about the haycart assassinations? Or the fight singing in our veins?" the kneeling Altaïr asked, dragging Malik to the floor with him. "And, Malik I - I thought you _glorious_ , brother."

"I knew I was right already," Malik pointed out, "I was glorious, purposefully so; and I thought you kissed me first."

*-*-*


End file.
